


On the Far Side of the Moon

by RukaIsAFan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Clones, Extended lifespan, M/M, Rescue, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RukaIsAFan/pseuds/RukaIsAFan
Summary: On a cold planet far from the organized center of the universe, Shiro danced with the memories of a legend in his head.He wasn't expecting to meet another.(Aka: What started as a strip club AU turned into this)





	On the Far Side of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Don't go calling for yesterday.

It was his lot in life to dance on the stage, acting sexual and say white lies to comfort those who made it out this far in space. He was an exotic specimen that was cheap. A millennium after the fall of the Galra Empire, everyone had petty squabbles now and Shiro was there dancing in as little clothes as possible for the aliens that looked up him with glazed over eyes, watching him sweat and flirt for their soiled money.

Humans tended to stay near their home planet. While there was lone traveling human on some of the ships that passed, the token human, but most of the humans weren't a clone like him. They, the clones, were remnants of the Galra Empire that still existed and still carried memories of that time, living time capsules in a way.

It was a shame that most of them never got back to the home they remembered.

Once in a while, Shiro passed another on the street. They both would glance at each other, hoping the other's lot in life was worse than theirs. Some of them were bought and traded. Put into inheritances for the short-lived. They still persisted and lived on despite being reduced to whatever role they were asked of doing.

Humans don't make it far to where Shiro danced. He was an exotic for being a human, and cheap for being a clone.

Like clockwork, that was the human saying, that the small alien in dark purple came to see him, staring behind his violet mask.

Shiro laughed at the first time he saw it. It reminded him of the small group of rebels just as the Galra Empire started to fall. _That man_ went with the origin, the real and first Shiro, to their base.

Shiro was used to his silence and the gestures. He watched with unseen eyes at Shiro and when Shiro removed the thong before the cheering crowd, the alien flexed his grip in his gloves. Shiro has seen it before, the patrons can get possessive over the dancers, each other deciding a dancer is theirs for eternity - until their eyes sets on a new one. The small alien was always fixated on him as he flirted around, taking money eagerly and tell each of his patrons what he'll buy with it. A new necklace, handcuffs, a toy to pleasure himself with, each one a lie but to encourage his patrons to return and give him, well the house that owns him, more.

He didn't mind, he didn't have to degrade himself like the others for money. Sure he had a tracker in him, but that was the least horrible thing they have done to the origin and the others of him. They fed him, take care of him with hygiene and exercise, and let him rest when he's sick. He was the only one dancing there that was owned but seeing how the other workers often quit and eventually found on the street... Shiro was happier to have a small room where he could relive the days of the origin. Though now the small alien was coming into his thoughts.

And so that was the case when he got in trouble, he was looking at the wrong patron. He should have looked at the scared alien with four rubbery hands with a mane that reminded Shiro of kelp that towered over Shiro, not the small alien that was looking back at him.

"Stupid wretch. First rule of customer service."

_Always give the customer your full attention._

Shiro crashed into the table and fell onto the filth covered floor. He curled himself up, shut his eyes, and covered his ears, waiting for the next blow. Wasn't the first the owner smashed him to the ground when he was performing, won't be the last-

The floor vibrated with a thud and the backside of Shiro felt quick cooling blood on his back. Before he could open his eyes, a small gloved hand grabbed the one that was covering his ears and pulled him up... and away. Shiro had to blink as the light-filled his eyes as he was led out into the cold outside.

He barely kept up with the man's speed and long stride. He wanted to throw out questions to the small alien, but the exertion of running meant he can to keep sucking in each breath of air even with the wind blowing his long hair in his face.

The small alien was heading to a small angular ship, dark gunmetal gray with red lights, he never saw before.

He knew what it was. Galra Empire fighter, a relic.

The small alien opened the hatch, the ship was modified. HEAVILY modified. It had space behind the pilot's chair for someone to lay down in, a makeshift bed on the floor as the alien lifted Shiro onto the pile of pillows and blankets. The alien quickly placed himself at the controls and they took off of the planet.

In such a short time, Shiro went from dancing in darkness to seeing the star glittered black that the origin loved and Shiro understood that love: It was beautiful.

After seeing nothing but the stars, Shiro spoke to his possible rescuer.

"I have a tracker," Shiro cringed, his voice came out too rough.

The alien turned his head around and looked at him.

Shiro didn't know what the alien was thinking, the full mask was, of course, being a full mask. And sure he was taken out of there, but well he could end up worse now.

The alien pointed to the blankets around him and gestured him to sleep.

And Shiro did. He fucked up one order today. He didn't want to do that again.

He rearranged the pillows and pulled a blanket over himself. It was strangely easy to fall asleep to the low hum of the ship's engines. Another quirk he gained from the origin.

When Shiro woke up, they were landing on an asteroid. Shiro didn't know where it was, for once. He recognized so many things with the memories of the origin that it didn't hurt to check if the asteroid base was also from the origin's memories. No between black holes and a giant blue star here. The hatch opened up and the small alien walked out, gesturing Shiro to follow. Shiro wrapped himself in a blanket and followed.

The base was interesting, to say the least. Archaic items littered the hallways in stages of decay. The small alien was a hoarder of the collector type. He heard of some aliens obtaining a Shiro because of their obsession with the origin or the era the origin lived in.

That was the most likely the small alien brought Shiro along.

There was no one in the base except robots haphazardly made from scraps. Some of them reminded him of the origin's friendship with two of the Voltron paladins with the similarity of designs.

A four-sided pyramid drone floated up and beeped at the alien and kept their pace.

Looks exactly like Rover. He wanted to say, but experience taught him to keep quiet. The alien was really into details. A nerd. A geek. Truly the alien was someone who felt a personal connection to that time.

Eventually, they headed into a large room and Shiro nearly yelled with surprise.

On the table was a replica, a full-size replica, of the Altean armor designed for the Red Paladin. Shiro wanted to laugh. This guy... This guy wanted to be _him_.

Who wouldn't? Shiro and the others would tell all about _him_ and how amazing _he_ was. The origin felt something for _him_ and all of them knew why.

Fine. If the alien wanted to be _that man_ , Shiro would let him. Even as the alien typed things into the console, Shiro couldn't help but look at him. _That man_ would have the same height as the alien. Same general body shape. Plus there are surgeries, he knew of other Shiros who had them done to look different from the standard. To make themselves unique, he didn't look down on it. They all came from the origin, but they were all different people at the end of their journeys.

The alien gesture to a box and Shiro followed his eye: clothes. His size.

It would be creepy in other situations, but the alien was detail oriented. Even nicked parts of the paladin armor to make look like it was in battle.

Shiro perused the clothes finding pants and a shirt that he liked. Fuck modesty. The alien had seen his bare ass rubbing against some rich alien's face before.

When Shiro turned around the silent alien finally was fidgeting with his Blade of Marmora cosplay. The hood came down and -well the alien got the mullet right-. It was white, not the natural born white of Alteans, but the silver white that came with age. Okay, the guy was old and that explained the extensive collection he built up.

But Shiro's heart dropped and his body froze, as the mask came off and a young looking face was looking at the drone. It's not surgery. Shiro could tell that look was all natural. No amount of surgery could get that look exactly right. It was the eyes too, he, the origin, has seen those eyes so many times.

All of the pieces around Shiro in the base weren't sold at auction. That armor was the real deal. That ship was modified by _him_. They were pieces of the past, memories.

Shiro was saved by _that man_.

"Are you Keith?" Shiro hesitantly asked.

"Yes, I'm still alive. Blame genetics. Though the original Shiro, the origin, said he blamed fate," Keith smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be an one-off or there might be more (complex issues and romance!), but I wanted to upload it regardless. Time to go back to finishing things. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos, Comments, and Bookmarks are always appreciated. 
> 
> My twitter is: [RukaIsAFan](http://www.twitter.com/RukaIsAFan).  
> My tumblr is: [RukaIsAFan](http://RukaIsAFan.tumblr.com).


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